


Our Halves Intertwine

by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/pseuds/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns
Summary: Prompt: Hermione just wanted to pop over to see her parents before taking on a new position for the ministry. But this isn't Australia, they certainly are not her parents, and why is her magic no longer working properly?





	Our Halves Intertwine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ABrighterDarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABrighterDarkness/gifts).



> I really wanted to get things rolling properly, so I'm sorry if it isn't! This is set roughly between Season 1 and Season 2 of Supernatural. Any errors are on my part, I'm sorry!

The shades of blue, green, and grey blurred through the window as the car drove down the road. Hermione didn’t know how long she’d been staring through it, but judging by her iron grip on the seatbelt secured across her chest, the fast movement had been going on for quite some time. 

 

She’d come to the realization that she’d felt safer on a bloody dragon. 

 

She wasn’t supposed to be in the backseat of an Impala. She wasn’t supposed to be accompanying two men– _ strangers _ , mind you–to some unknown location in order to keep her safe. She wasn’t supposed to be in any situation  _ without magic _ . 

 

Yet she was. 

 

Hermione couldn’t call on any of her friends; they believed she was in Australia with her parents for three weeks, celebrating her new position in the Ministry. She’d declined the offer to campaign for Minister, instead accepting the opportunity to form and lead a new department that would benefit both the wizard and Muggle communities–Hermione had an inkling that the offer was presented to her because of her war and blood status, but she left it alone for the time being. 

 

Because it would be a new department, it’d take time to officially pass through the head leaders within the Ministry, recruit other employees to work in the department, and gather the necessary resources to keep the department afloat. So Hermione took the chance to see her parents–having successfully recovered their memories up until the year she had to take them away–and discover new things in a new place. Apparently, someone above had a twisted sense of humor. 

 

_ Something had gone wrong with the portkey sending her to Australia; Hermione knew it the moment the pull from the portkey made her much more nauseous than normal. Once Hermione landed, she staggered and gasped, falling to her knees as her chest felt like it’d been hit with a bludger. She pressed her hand onto her chest and looked around frantically, her surroundings were unfamiliar.  _

 

_ These weren’t the trees that surrounded her parents’ home. In fact, her parents’ home wasn’t near a forest like this.  _

 

_ As far as her eyes could see, there weren’t any houses close by. Where could she have landed? Reaching for her wand, Hermione thought about the spells she’d perform in order to– _

 

_ Sweet Circe, her wand was gone.  _

 

_ Panic began to seize Hermione’s body, but she quelled herself with the comfort that she could perform wandless magic; she’d find her wand and get out there–wherever there was.  _

 

_ She concentrated, spell after spell shouted in her mind. Nothing happened. She didn’t feel anything; she didn’t feel anything.  _

 

_ Her magic was gone.  _

 

_ Hermione could no longer hold back the attack taking over her. Her heartbeat was sporadic, pounding against her ears. Her hands felt clammy; her body convulsed. Suddenly, a human-like creature stood in front of her. Their hand was outstretched towards her, its eyes glowing a bright blue. Hermione’s eyes were transfixed on the tattoos etched on its skin, despite her mind screaming for her to run.  _

 

_ Before it could touch her, the sound of pierced flesh hit her ears; the scream was unbearable...she was...fading.  _

 

_ She never heard the shouts directed towards her as the world blurred around her and went black.  _

 

Hermione played with the hem of the large jacket draped over her shoulders, glancing at the men seated in front of her. 

 

The one driving was definitely a piece of work. He was a snarky and cocky son of a gun, but Hermione noted how devoted he was to his brother, even when he was annoying him. 

 

Her eyes drifted to said brother; the quiet brunette had his head down. He was reading something; Hermione recognized that resting position anywhere. He was the opposite of his brother, but his witty retorts rivaled those of the blond man next to him. It was almost as if she were with George and Fred–minus the twin gene and red hair. 

 

She found her gaze lingering on the brunette longer than she should have; needless to say, her curiosity was piqued about him. About them both. It wasn’t the wisest of decisions she’d made lately, but she didn’t have many logical options in the matter. 

 

And it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been thrust in danger with two guys who’d saved her life. 

 

_ The first thing Hermione comprehended when she woke was that she was still not in her parents’ home.  _

 

_ It looked like a cheap hotel room; the jade green paint on the wall was chipped and worn. The mattress she laid on was firm, and the sheets smelled like smoke.  _

 

_ Hermione wrinkles her nose, her brain was still processing the events prior to her blackout when her eyes met with green ones belonging to a blond man she didn’t recognize.  _

 

_ She screamed, her first instinct to grab her wand. Except she didn’t have her wand. The connection she once felt with her magic had vanished. A part of her was stripped away like a piece of paper torn in half.  _

 

_ In the midst of her grieving revelation, she’d gripped the lamp with intent to throw it at the tall individual standing at the foot of the bed.  _

 

_ He held his hands up, his body on the defense. “Woah, woah, woah!” he exclaimed. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” _

 

_ Hermione lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to let go of the lamp shade. She didn’t know what was going on–just another thing to stress her out–so her mind and body were on the offense. Even without magic, Hermione was still proud of her Muggle roots; she’d put them to action if need be.  _

 

_ The man took a step back, his hands still raised in the air. “Look, my name is Dean. We’re just here to help you.” Dean looked over his shoulder for a brief second to call out, “Sammy, your princess is awake!” He glanced between Hermione and the door that Hermione assumed to be the bathroom.  _

 

_ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Dean. One, she was no one’s princess. Two, his ‘reassurance’ only brought on more questions than answers. If she wanted to get these answers the right way–AKA the only way she could without her magic–she’d have to play nice. For now.  _

 

_ Hermione lowered the lamp, and Dean followed suit with his hands; she could see the relief wash over his face. Not a moment later, the door opened to reveal a man slightly taller than Dean; his brown, shaggy fringe covering his eyes a bit. Despite that, Hermione could still see the irritation lined in the creases his eyes made.  _

 

_ “She’s not my princess, Dean,” he replied, walking over cautiously.  _

 

_ Dean snorted, still giving Hermione a sideways glance. “You sure as hell saved her like some green-wearing plumber saving the princess from an evil turtle.”  _

 

_ There was a tick in the brunette’s jaw and stiffening in his broad shoulders. “Mario wears red, genius,” he retorted in a tighter voice. “Luigi is green.”  _

 

_ “I know that, but Mario is much cooler than Luigi,” Dean replied. “And you, sir, are not cooler than me.”  _

 

_ Hermione took that moment to step in. She was, after all, in their captivity. Technically. And she wanted answers, not listen to them argue like children over whoever bloody Mario was. She snapped her fingers and pursed her lips. “I believe we have some things to discuss, gentlemen.”  _

 

_ “Even better, Sam, she’s got that British accent,” Dean remarked with a half-grin, which Hermione assumed was to ignore her statement–which added to her irritable mood.  _

 

_ Sam gave Dean a look that said ‘shut up’ and met Hermione’s gaze. “I’m sorry about my brother. He’s kind of a special case,” he said, whispering the last statement. Whatever Dean was going to say was silenced by the back of Sam’s hand covering his face. “And you’re right. We do have some things to discuss.”  _

 

_ Hermione was wary at first, but something made her believe that they weren’t the ones to sabotage her transportation or attempt to harm her–she’ll never admit that it was the dispelling look Sam’s eyes gave.  _

 

The car had stopped, and the lack of loud music ringing rhythmically in her ears pulled Hermione from her thoughts. She clutched the jacket tighter to her form subconsciously. There wasn’t a chill anymore thanks to the wind not blowing in her face, but she’d grown accustomed to the denim material in that short time. It had absolutely nothing to do with Sam’s pleasant smelling cologne clinging to it. 

 

He and Dean exited the car, and Dean made a beeline for the trunk. Sam stayed at his door, helping her out of the car. She noted that he stood in front of her attempting to obscure whatever Dean was gathering in the back. 

 

Her brow rose, and she gave Sam a pointed look; her defenses rising quickly. “Where are we?” she questioned. 

 

“It’s our old man’s old hunting cabin,” Dean answered before Sam could open his mouth. He slung a bag over his shoulder and slammed the trunk shut. “That thing might have caught your scent, and I know he has some stinky candles around here somewhere that keeps the biggest noses away.” 

 

She opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped herself. She wasn’t sure what was best to say in response. Hermione had never encountered a creature like that, and the brothers were mum on the details–not even to give her a name. The only thing they’d told her was that it was like no other animal she’d seen and they had to get a good distance away from it to keep her safe. 

 

Hermione knew very well what she’d faced, but she couldn’t tell them that. She also couldn’t shake the fact that while Dean and Sam didn’t know about her life experiences, the creature was still just as dangerous. The only thing that kept Hermione from being on edge when they left the hotel was Dean’s face when Sam asked about her well-being. 

 

_ “Did he touch you?” Sam asked, a deep frown on her face.  _

 

_ Hermione’s brows shot up, looking between the two men. “Of course not! What kind of woman do you take me for?”  _

 

_ Dean looked offended, and realization dawned on Sam that she was thinking he meant something else.  _

 

_ “No, no. Not Dean,” Sam explained quickly, shaking his hands. “I meant the creature. At any point, did he touch you?”  _

 

_ Hermoine thought back to the incident, the way her body had failed her and her heart dropped when her magic was nowhere to be found.  _

 

_ “No,” she answered. “I believe you stopped him in time.”  _

 

_ She didn’t know what was so important about the creature touching her, but she knew by the relieved expression on Sam’s face that she should consider herself lucky.  _

 

Hermione followed the brothers towards the entrance of the cabin, feeling apprehensive. There were even more questions in her mind than answers; those two were the keys to figuring it all out. Yet, it didn’t help that she had secrets of her own. If no one could divulge important information, it was going to be problematic for everyone. 

 

There was an important question that couldn’t be held in much longer as Hermione gripped the door handle to close behind her. “How long are we going to be here?” 

 

“Uh…” she heard Dean’s voice drift. “‘Til we find a way to kill it?” 

 

Hermione’s hand nearly slipped from the doorknob. 

 

Hermione had been in the cabin for a week.  _ A week _ . An entire week that she hadn’t been in touch with her parents. Harry and Ron had no idea where she was, and she was stuck with no magic against an unknown creature. She couldn’t forget the fact that she was also in the cabin with handsome men. One of them in particular kept finding their way into her thoughts. 

 

Thank Merlin there were plenty of room for everyone to sleep separately. She would have been done for otherwise. Men were a sensitive subject for Hermione to explore even with herself; after she and Ron tried exploring a relationship, things had gone downhill. What once was passionate and sweet became extremely awkward. Neither could pinpoint when and where it happened; it just happened. 

 

After the happening, Hermione shut herself off from exploring other men. No matter what, she never considered pursuing a possibility of exploring something different. 

 

Then came Sam Winchester. 

 

Within a week, Hermione learned how selfless he was, how humble and strong he could be. He was kind, considerate, and his accidental brushes against her arm when they walked down the corridor sent chills down her spine that she didn’t think were possible anymore. 

 

When Dean was off looking for the creature in the woods, Sam stayed behind to keep an eye on her. He gave her space, but she could always tell when he was watching over her. It was a shame that there wasn’t a future; there were secrets that they both were keeping.

 

She was standing near the window, a mug in her hand as she waited for Dean’s return when she felt a presence near. She turned around and saw Sam standing there with a deep frown on his face; something was troubling him. Hermione set the mug down and stepped towards him. 

 

“Sam, are you alright?” she asked. 

 

He took a step back away from her, and Hermione immediately caught onto the issue. She was the issue. The thought made the hairs stand on the back of her neck. 

 

“I know why the Djinn is keeping your scent,” he said in a somber tone. “The only reason I haven’t stepped towards you with a blade is because I want you to tell me I’m wrong.” 

 

She was confused. “Sam, what are you talking about?” The Djinn had to be the creature coming for her, though the name was even more unfamiliar to her. Its origin sounded familiar, but the answer escaped her. 

 

“I looked more into the creature and how to really kill it,” Sam explained. “It didn’t touch you yet because it’s harvesting your magic.” 

 

Hermione’s blood suddenly ran cold. 

 

“If you had magic...you’re a witch?” His voice was more of a whisper now. 

 

That damn creature harvested her magic? Would she get it back? What would happen if they killed it before she received it back? What would happen now that Sam knew? 

 

“Sam,” Hermione started, walking towards him slowly. “Let me explain.” 

 

He clenched his fist at his side. “There’s nothing to explain. I have to get you out of here.” He stormed off, but Hermione couldn’t leave it at that. Her body responded instinctively. 

 

“Wait!” she ran off after him, finding him in the room that he’d been sleeping in. She saw the sharp, long weapon lying on his bed, and she saw the pained look on his face. “There’s so much about it that I can’t say, but you have to listen, Sam. Please.” 

 

“You can’t keep that kind of thing away from me, Hermione!” Sam exclaimed, stepping closer without the blade. “Away from us? How am I supposed to protect you that way? Dean would have hurt you without a second thought if he was the one researching the Djinn!” 

 

_ ‘He didn’t want to hurt her?’ _ Hermione’s heart fluttered, but she pushed it away for the situation at hand. “It’s not that simple, Sam!” 

 

“Yes it is! You either sold your soul or you didn’t.  _ Simple _ !” 

 

Hermione tilted her head upwards and met Sam’s eyes defiantly. Her chest was rising high from the adrenaline rushing through her body. She didn’t know what witches meant to a guy like Sam, but there was one thing that had to be clear. 

 

“I would  _ never  _ sell my soul for magic I was born with,” she said in a hard tone. “I was ridiculed, torturned, and judged for being born with magic because in the eyes in my world, I’m nothing but scum. If you think I’d sell my soul to live through that kind of life, you’re wrong.” 

 

Sam’s eyes were steady on hers, flickering over her face. She was building anger now, and his silence didn’t help. How was she supposed to get her point across if he didn’t–

 

His lips were pressed hard against hers. Her eyes were wide as their bodies moved to the closest solid object that her back could be pressed against. Her luck, it was the dresser. Sam’s hands dug into her sides, keeping her close in the heated kiss. 

 

She didn’t know when he’d let go. She didn’t know if she wanted him to. When it did happen, there was going to be even more complications. 

**Author's Note:**

> I fully intend on extending the last scene! I was rushing for time :P


End file.
